


Learning Curves

by Ammeh



Category: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: 7KPP Week, Corsetry, F/M, First Time, Historical Dress, This came out fairly bodice-ripper-y; I'm sorry, Undressing, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 12:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9820754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammeh/pseuds/Ammeh
Summary: She's pretty sure this is the part where they have sex. First she just needs to determine how to disentangle herself from her six layers of undergarments.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gosh. So I believe I have the honor(?) of being the first person to post Clarmont smut. I blame this on the [tumblr](http://azalynestudios.tumblr.com/post/121457667691/out-of-curiosity-how-are-the-delegates-with) post a while back that said he would "enjoy flustering you in private." I'M SORRY ALY. 
> 
> I probably spent more time researching historical undergarments than I actually spent writing this fic. There is a complete mis-mash of time periods involved (and I can go into long justifications on why I chose each undergarment if anyone is interested, but the short version is “Pretty sure Aly was thinking of Victorian corsets, but crinolines seem overly modern given the lack of printing presses and gunpowder; also Penelope is definitely wearing a stomacher”). 
> 
> This was for the “future” prompt for 7kpp week 2017 because…it’s in the future, but the way it turned out it might’ve fit better for “growth,” since it’s practically a lost scene from the Princess personal plot.  
> 1\. Princess questions her duty with help from Emmett  
> 2\. Princess tries cooking with help from Hamin  
> 3\. Princess reads forbidden literature with help from Lyon  
> 4\. Princess learns to defend herself with help from Ana  
> 5\. Princess assassinates her brother-in-law (or not) with help from Zarad  
> 6\. PRINCESS LEARNS TO UNDRESS HERSELF WITH HELP FROM CLARMONT
> 
> (Yes, that is basically the summary of the fic.)

So. This was it.

The last month had been frantic, juggling the fragile budding of a new government with last-minute fittings and food and music—and then today, a wedding happier than she’d ever dreamed of, her chest fit to burst with joy rather than the numb, resigned, caged feeling that had always accompanied the idea in her mind.

The feasting and merry-making had lasted hours—this being the first time since the Summit that many of the guests had taken a moment from the still-overwhelming amount of clean-up, reconstruction, and negotiation to be done to celebrate the fact that they were doing it in the first place. She’d barely seen Clarmont of late. There was so much to _do—_ years of damage to be undone, lingering unrest to be soothed among the old-new nobility. He had too many people to meet with, egos to placate and bargains to make—while she’d been passing hours in the study, fingers cramped from writing letters to new friends and old connections. She’d always been good at endearing herself to others, if nothing else, but it was a delicate task—requesting favors without damaging relationships, securing aid without making them look weak—to the other nations _or_ Revaire. Sometimes it felt like they’d had more free time together at the Summit!

But now here they were alone. In a bedroom.

She didn’t know how this was supposed to work. She’d never even _undressed_ herself. But surely it would be terribly awkward to call in a maid to help her out of her finery so she and her husband (husband!) could—

Clarmont crossed the room from where he’d been disentangling himself from a cumbersome-looking length of ceremonial cording and the attached cape, taking her hand and smiling at her reassuringly.

“It’s been a long day. We can just sleep if you want to.” He leaned forward, eyes dancing conspiratorially. “I don’t know what you’ve been told about wedding nights, but there’s no rule that says we _have_ to do anything.”

She felt warmth flooding her cheeks, voice freezing in her throat at the very thought of voicing a desire to—to—

But that was the girl in the tower talking.

“I—I’d like to.” It was a small, susurrant sound rather than the declaration she’d intended, but good enough. “I—it’s not that I’m scared of the _idea_ of—I just…don’t know what to do.” She choked in embarrassment, but finally blurted it out. “I’ve never even undressed myself!”

He stared in mild surprise for a moment, lips twitching slightly even as he was clearly trying valiantly to look reassuring and non-judgmental. “...I’m sure we could figure it out,” he said after a long pause, voice warm with suppressed laughter.

Just like that the tension left her body and she gave a small, relieved laugh. “I suppose it does seem a rather silly concern now that I say it aloud.” She stepped closer, as much as the full skirts of her Arlish-style gown would allow, her farthingale pushing up behind her as she tentatively laid her hands on his shoulders. “And I have been…very curious about…” she trailed off, still not quite able to say it, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him instead.

He brought a hand to the back of her neck and deepened it, his other hand landing on the curve of her waist, new enough that the gesture sent sparks down her spine despite that she could barely feel it through all her clothing. She gave a little gasp and it was like something broke free, her hands jumping from their properly demure place on his shoulders to run down his arms, through his hair, to clutch desperately at his carefully-pressed dress coat. Warmth started to gather between her legs, flared into heat when he gently sucked her lower lip into his mouth and tugged at it with his teeth.

They had never kissed this long, or this heatedly, and she felt like an utter mess by the time they parted, wisps of her hair fallen free of its elaborate wedding coif and her chest heaving as she strained to draw enough air in her corset.

She fumbled for the pins holding her stomacher to her bodice (that part seemed easy enough, at least!), and then the ones holding it to her corset and corset cover, setting pins and stomacher triumphantly on a table with just one small finger-prick as casualty.

Clarmont’s eyes were laughing as he watched her, understanding that this was, however small and silly, a victory. He stepped up to take her overgown as she wriggled out of it, leaving her to attack the ties on either side of her underskirt holding it up. “I confess, Everly,” he teased as she finally managed to push it down, leaving her in her embroidered corset cover and ruffled petticoat. “I was not expecting you to be wearing an entire second gown under the first one.”

She furrowed her brow, looking down at it. “It’s important that the last inner layer look nice, in case you have to pick up your skirts, or your bodice slips.”

“Fair enough,” he grinned, hands going to the buttons of his dress coat. “Though I do suspect you could almost pass at court in that.”

She giggled. “Hardly.” This petticoat tied in the front—which she managed easily enough—and in the back, which was going to be…a bit more complex. She reached behind herself, got hold of the ties, and tugged… _annnd_ that was apparently the wrong end, as the knot tightened, rather than pulling free. She grasped for the correct ends and pulled again, but she had apparently gotten it quite stuck. “Could you—?”

He set his coat on a chair and stepped behind her, the warmth of his breath prickling the back of her neck as he worked at the tangle she had gotten things into.

She started on the corset cover in the meantime—that was simple, just a few ribbons in front—and shook the petticoat down once Clarmont had managed to untangle it.

“…Why do you have little pillows tied around your waist?” he asked, stepping back and reaching up to undo his cravat.

She looked back to see him staring at her bum and hip pads in bemusement. She undid the ribbon holding them up, lifting them for his inspection. “They make your skirts puff out more at the top. I suppose Revairan women probably don’t wear them, since the gowns are slimmer here.”

“I…can’t say that I’ve conducted a particularly extensive study, but I don’t believe so.” He looked down at her farthingale. “They don’t wear the hooped skirts, either.”

The farthingale hooked onto the corset for stability, that much she knew—she shrugged out of the open corset cover and ran her fingers along the waistband looking for the hooks. She found them without much difficulty and fumbled with them until they came loose, then undid the ties holding the waistband closed, letting it collapse to the ground like a folding bellows, which left her in her chemise, corset, and inner petticoat. (And bloomers. And stockings. And shoes. At least she was halfway there?)

She looked up to see Clarmont staring at her waist with a slight frown.

“I thought it was an illusion from the fullness of the skirts, but—do you normally lace that tightly?”

She looked down at her waist, shrugging. “This is my most formal one, so it’s a bit smaller than my everyday ones, but—almost?”

He stepped forward, spanning her waist with his hands. “Isn’t it uncomfortable?”

“No, not really.”  She tilted her head in thought (and, feeling daring, brought her hands up to his shirt buttons.) “I suppose it was when I first started. And at night, sometimes—I’ve never quite managed to get used to wearing stays to bed.”

“You _sleep_ in—?” He shook his head, dismissing the thought as she undid the button at his collar. “We can talk about it later. You don’t have to.” He bent down and kissed the corner of her mouth.

She nodded in half-attentive acknowledgment, lip pulled between her teeth as she unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way down before shyly pushing it off his shoulders.

And… _Oh!_ She inhaled sharply. She’d always been… _intrigued_ by Clarmont’s chest and arms—the everyday Revairan fashions showing so much _more_ of them than the high-collared Arlish shirts and long-sleeved jackets she was used to—but she hadn’t been prepared for the sharp spike of heat in her belly at the sight of all that tan skin and muscle. She’d been able to tell through his clothing that he was…toned, but it was quite another thing to see it directly, and she bit her lip in want, her cheeks flooding crimson, hands still resting on his shoulders.

“I’m pleased that you approve,” he murmured in her ear, moving closer, sending a shiver down her spine at the sensation.

“Could you—help me with my corset?” She wasn’t quite ready to attempt that one on her own. Maybe on an occasion better suited to wasting time blindly fumbling with strings.

He stepped behind her, dropping a slow, wet kiss with—oh!—a hint of teeth on the back of her neck as he took hold of the ties at the waist of her corset and began to undo them. Once the knot was undone he slipped his fingers into the laces, slowly tugging them loose one by one. There was something heady and foreign about the everyday sensation of the corset slowly loosening and pulling away from her body—his movements slower and more deliberate than the brisk yanks of her ladies’ maids, heat pooling in her belly at each brush of his fingers against her skin through the thin fabric of her chemise. Dampness gathered between her legs and her head swum for a moment as she drew a deep, intoxicating free breath, the corset finally loose enough to remove.

She reached behind herself and untied her last petticoat in a fumbling rush, shoving it carelessly down around her ankles and kicking it out of the way. Left in just her chemise and split-leg bloomers, she stepped back against him, the heat of his body scorching through the fine linen of her chemise. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her more firmly against him, his palm running up the curve of her side and—oh!—a hot, hard ridge digging into her lower back.

“I didn’t realize that it— _jumped to it_ so early on in the process,” she gasped, pressing back a little, and he paused abruptly, his chest shaking with laughter that he muffled into her hair.

“Well, what about you?” he eventually murmured behind her ear, his hand moving up and cupping her breast through the thin fabric of her chemise. “It might not be so obvious, but I _suspect_ you may be in a similar situation.”

She gasped, sharply, lightning streaking down her spine as his other hand ran up her thigh and slipped into the gap between the legs of her bloomers, briefly dipping between her legs and rubbing at the wetness gathered there before retreating. She pressed her chest forward into his hand at the loss of that touch—whimpered as pleasure curled low in her belly at the slow squeeze he gave in response.

“You’re almost done now, right?” his voice was a low, playful burr in her ear. “Just one more layer to go.” With a last flick of his thumb across her nipple he released her and stepped back abruptly, his face teasing when she whipped around in surprise.

 She looked down. “…I suppose we ought to take our shoes off at some point.”

He chuckled, and they both bent to undo their shoes. That at least she’d done herself before, pinchy things they sometimes were—and it was far easier without a corset in the way.

She straightened and untied her bloomers—she really had far too many underthings that tied behind her back, but at least she was starting to get the knack of it. Her chemise fell loose to mid-thigh, and she leaned down to untie her garters as well, tossing the delicately embroidered ribbons onto the table with her stomacher before tugging off her stockings. While Clarmont continued to undo the buttons on his boots and pull off his socks, she fumbled in her hair for the pins holding her braided coif together, managing to extract them just as he stood. The majority of her hair fell down her back in locks and braids, save for one braid still coiled at the crown of her head. (She was fairly sure that one was _sewn_ in place, but…it could probably wait until morning.)

Feeling bold, she stepped forward and tentatively took hold of the top button of his breeches, compulsively looking up at him for confirmation before she gathered the pluck to actually undo it. The second button was easier—then the breeches started to gape open and she could see the solid outline of him through his drawers, a tiny wet spot in the linen becoming visible at the tip as she undid the third and fourth buttons, cheeks flaming.

He tugged the breeches down and stepped out of them, then brought his palms to her thighs, smiling down at her. He ran his hands slowly up her sides, catching her chemise on his thumbs as he passed it, and her breath caught in her throat as he drew it up over her buttocks, her stomach, her breasts.

She raised her arms to let him tug the chemise over her head, fighting the instinctive urge to cover herself with her hands, or press up against him to be less exposed (she really questioned the part of her brain that had apparently concluded pressing her naked body against a man would be somehow more modest than standing in the open).

He looked at her tenderly, like something wondrous, and the edge of the nerves melted away, blooming into a sharp want when he ran a hand slowly down her front, the stiff point of her nipple catching in the ridges between his fingers.

A hungry throbbing grew between her legs and she keened a little. When she pushed her body against him it was for the skin-to-skin contact, rather than some twisted idea of modesty—for the feeling of her breasts squished up against his chest, the hard length of him pressing into her abdomen.

He reached down, cupping his hands under her rear and lifting her, and walked the few steps to the bed, kissing down her neck as he went. He set her on the edge of the bed with a last, heated kiss on the lips, and she scooched back until she was leaning up on her elbows, watching as he quickly shucked his drawers before climbing above her with a playful grin.

There was a raw sort of vulnerability to seeing him above her, his arms to either side of her shoulders caging her in—one much keener than that of simply baring her body, a visceral anticipation that shuddered down her back and left her a little breathless. She reached up and ran her hands down his chest, stroked them down his sides before daring a quick peek down (so _that’s_ what they looked like) and brushing a finger, very gently, over the base.

He stayed still, watching her face, content to let her explore, and she carefully tangled her fingers in the crisp dark red curls where it joined to his body. She let go to curiously stroke her thumb over a bead of fluid at the tip of it, smearing it over the crown, and he groaned softly, crushing their lips together and briefly delving into her mouth.

He broke the kiss to trail a line of kisses down her neck, onto her breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth. His hand moved between her thighs, and she jolted as he stroked the slick gathered at her entrance over that tiny nub at the apex of her thighs, circling it in tiny movements of his thumb that made her knees tremble and her body want to curl in on itself. One of his fingers traced over her entrance as he continued, and when it dipped inside and stroked over her inner walls she found herself grabbing at her own thighs, so desperate was she for something to hang onto.

He raised his head, eyes warm as they studied her face. “Good?”

She nodded frantically, her breath coming in high, whimpering pants. “Can you—another finger?”

His finger slid out and then two of them pressed in together, curling inside her, sparking a streak of gut-wrenching pleasure like nothing she’d quite felt before. It faded into a hunger that had her biting her lip in frustration, clenching around the so-full-not-enough presence of his fingers that keep pressing against her in ways that felt right on the edge of being toe-curling—and then that same pleasure shot back up her spine, longer this time, exploded with the steady circles of his thumb around her nub and crashed over her in waves.

She heard herself sob, her knees shaking, her fingers locked in a death-grip on her thighs as her loins pulsed with that sharp heat, slick gushing onto his fingers. Once it had crested over her the sensation of his hand grew too raw, like poking at a bruise, and she pushed at his wrist, panting.

He drew back and let her catch her breath for a moment, laying kisses along her collarbone. “Now, was there anything else you wanted?” he murmured against her neck.

Despite the position they’d just been in, she felt herself flushing. She hadn’t been expecting to have to _say_ it. “Would you—put it inside me?”

He looked at her, smiling mischievously. “My finger? I just did.”

She frowned, pouting a little, trying to think of a way to unambiguously state it that wouldn’t make her combust with embarrassment.

There wasn’t one, really.

“Your—your _prick,_ ” she stammered out, face heated. (And of course it was one of the _more_ embarrassing words that she finally managed to blurt out.)

He chuckled in her ear, pulling the lobe of it between his lips. “Well, if you insist.”

He guided her legs around his waist, grabbing a pillow and tucking it under her rear as it lifted up off the bed. He looked down at her, eyes tender, smoothing a hand up her side, and she felt the hot, sticky head of him nose between her inner lips.

There was a brief ache as she felt herself stretch around him, the swell of him feeling breathlessly wide even as her body yielded to it. She stared up into his eyes, feeling just as speared by his gaze as she was by his body, and felt his hips bump up against the backs of her thighs.

She looked down, curious, and even though she could feel it, the sight of his groin flush with the join of her thighs sent a shameful thrill through her that spiked into heat at her loins. She leaned up awkwardly to bring their mouths together, gasping at the jolt of nerves as he slid partway out of her before pressing back in.

He repeated the motion, and soon there was a rhythm to it, one that had her legs clenching desperately around his waist in an attempt to chase that same body-curling internal pleasure she’d felt previously with his fingers inside her. It wasn’t quite as acute, but the wideness of him inside her was stroking spots she’d never felt before, more continuously than the bright sudden flares from before, and she moaned, grabbing at his back.

He kissed her, clumsier and more desperate than before, one forearm resting beside her head and his other hand at her waist. The room filled with slick, wet sounds as he pumped in and out of her hole, and she keened into his shoulder, clutching at him.

As his thrusts grew quicker she could feel something building—the raw stroking inside her and occasional presses of his groin against her nub almost, but not quite sending her over the edge. She gasped his name, trying to meet his thrusts, her body feeling like it might burst and melt away at any moment, like the tender almost-ache of him pushing in and out of her might pull her inside-out.

“ _Everly,_ ” he gasped into her hair, his hips stuttering and pressing hard against her, a groan low in his throat. He gave several small, aborted pushes against her, and after a long moment she felt a bit of liquid trickle out around him.

He pulled out, and her hand flew between her legs, chasing that peak she hadn’t quite been able to crest before. It wasn’t long before it burst over her, her toes curling into the sheets. Her fingers were damp with her slick and his spend when she pulled them back, and he laughed as she wrinkled her nose, reaching over to grab a handkerchief from a table beside the bed and handing it to her.

He rolled off to lie beside her and she tucked herself into the curve of his arm, tracing her fingers absently over his chest.

“That was much more enjoyable than anyone back home ever wanted me to believe,” she said after a long, content silence, curling their fingers together.

“You’re home now,” he replied, kissing her forehead.

So she was.

**Author's Note:**

> Note to self: Try to stick to narrators who are comfortable using coarser words for body parts when writing smut.
> 
> I struggled for a bit to come up with a title for this when posting it here, but then I realized the correct answer is ALWAYS a cheesy double entendre.
> 
> If you’re curious about the historical undergarments, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zBnJH1cOXR4) video has most of the ones mentioned in the fic!


End file.
